VOLKOFF  RISE OF AN EMPIRE
by Clamman
Summary: Everything has a history. Before he was a lunatic mass-murdering, music-loving arms dealer, he was a harmless, docile scientist. Before he was Volkoff, he was Winterbottom. This is his story.


**VOLKOFF – RISE OF A DYNASTY**

**Chapter One**

_23__rd__ August, 1980_

"Come on, Steve, let me do it!"

"Hartley, how many times do I have to tell you? No! You're just a scientist, like me. You're not cut out for this kind of mission."

"I need this, Steve! I am _just_ a scientist – I want to be more than that. If I can pull this off, then maybe Piercy will take some notice of me. The CIA's always on the lookout for any potential field agents. Besides, didn't you say I was Intersect-compatible?"

"You're not the only compatible person, Hartley, there are another three _trained agents_," he stressed heavily on those two words, "whose scores make them eligible candidates for the program."

Hartley gave him an exasperated look. "We both know my score was higher than all three of those agents."

Stephen rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Be that as it may, but this technology is still very experimental. I mean, in theory the program should work, but in practice… well, the human brain is very complex. There could be problems."

"There won't be any, I know it! Please, Steve, at least let me have a trial run on it. If it doesn't work out, you can just remove it, but if it does, recommend me for the mission."

Looking at his friend, Stephen rolled his eyes and typed on the keyboard in front of him. "Fine, but at the first sign of trouble I'm removing it, okay? Sit in front of this monitor," he swiveled the screen so that it is facing the other guy, "and don't move."

"Thank you so much, I owe you one."

"Piercy's gonna fire my ass if this goes wrong, I hope you know that. You ready?"

"Yes."

"Well, here goes nothing..." Stephen hit the enter key and a stream of images flashed across the screen, causing Hartley to blink rapidly as the information downloaded into his brain. After a few seconds, the program finished and Hartley fell sideways off his chair. Stephen rushed over to check on him.

"Hey! Hey! Hartley! Can you hear me! Hartley!"

"Ugh... I feel like I just woke up with a really bad hangover," groaned Hartley, slowly propping himself up against the desk. He jerked away as Stephen clapped loudly next to his ear.

"Just need to check your responses. Bear with me." He shone a small torch into his eyes and smiled. "Good. You're fine." Helping his friend to his feet, he retrieved a folder from the desk and showed him a picture. "Let's give the implant a try."

Hartley exhaled loudly as he felt a rush of heat flooding his head, and slowly a smile formed on his face. Drawing himself to his full height, he declared, "I am Alexei Dmitri Volkoff, son of Vladmir Georgy Volkoff, and the most feared arms dealer in the entire world." Shaking his head, he stumbled and Stephen caught him. "It worked, Steve! I can access the Volkoff persona whenever I want!"

"Well, I have to hand it to you," replied Stephen with relief. "I'll report this to Director Piercy immediately. I hope you're sure that this is what you want."

"Of course I'm sure. I'm ready for this."

_24__th__ August, 1980_

_CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia_

"Will you stop being so nervous already?" hissed Stephen at his friend, who was looking very uncomfortable.

"I look ridiculous in this suit – there's too much sheen, I'm shining like a disco ball!" replied Hartley. He looked at the clock on the wall and gulped. "Anytime now."

The double doors in front of them swung open, revealing a tastefully decorated office and the notorious Director of the CIA, Benjamin Piercy. By his appearance alone, it could be told that this was a man who worked hard for every penny he earned and definitely not the kind people stood in the way of. It was exactly that which made him infamous in covert intelligence circles.

Piercy gestured to the chairs in front of him and the two men sat themselves there.

"Director."

"Stephen. How's the wife?"

"She's fine, thanks for asking."

"Good." He flicked through the file in front of him. "As I understand from your report, there were several other candidates for the Intersect - agents handpicked from the CIA. However, you chose Mr. Winterbottom here as the Intersect candidate instead. "

"Sir, Mr. Winterbottom is more capable than any of those agents. He scored ninety four percent in the subliminal imaging exam whilst the agents scored from eighty five to ninety. They only managed to achieve the bare minimum which the Intersect requires."

"Don't worry, Stephen, I'm actually impressed that you managed to find a better Intersect host. What did you say the odds were? One in four million?" Seemingly producing a cigar from nowhere, he struck a match and lights it. Puffing slowly, he continued. "Never mind. Mr. Winterbottom - since you accepted the mission - we'll have to send you to the Farm."

Hartley stared nonplussed at the director. "The Farm?"

"The Farm is a secret CIA facility used for the training of potential agents and it is _very_ effective." Piercy took another puff from his cigar. "Officially, the Farm does not exist and its location kept a secret, only disclosed to the CIA Director on his appointment and the President on a need-to-know basis."

"So this is beyond top secret? Wow… this is all so exciting!" Hartley enthused. "So when do I start?"

"Immediately. Consider this your official welcome to the CIA, Agent Winterbottom." The Director rose and offered him his hand, which Hartley took eagerly. "If you don't mind, we'll take you there now." He made a small motion to the agent standing by the door, who stepped forward.

"How am I getting there? Car? Pla-" Hartley was cut off by the agent who dealt a sharp blow to the back of his head, knocking him out cold. Slumping to the ground, he remained there unmoving.

"What the hell, Ben!" exclaimed Stephen after he had regained enough composure to speak again.

"Apologies, Stephen, but it's protocol. Can't have him knowing where it is." Piercy nods again to the agent who picks up the unconscious Hartley and hauls him out of the office. "You've done great work, old friend. If this Intersect program works, it'll revolutionise the field of spywork."

A dubious look passed over the Bartowski's face. "For all our sakes, let's hope it stays in the right hands. This technology is dangerous, more than you can imagine. My research is turning up results at an increasing rate and I'm not sure all of them are for the best."

Piercy taps his cigar on the side of an ashtray and brings it back up to his mouth. "I'd have to agree with that."

_25__th__ August, 1980_

_The Farm, location unknown_

Hartley gasped as he regained consciousness, his face dripping wet from the water that was thrown onto him, and strained his eyes, the bright harsh lighting proving to be a source of great pain and aching.

"Wh-wh-where am I?" he spluttered out. Hearing no response, he started screaming for help. "Is anyone there? HELP ME! I'M TRAPPED IN THIS ROOM! HELP!" He attempted to gets out of the chair, but his arms refused to move, his wrists bound down by handcuffs.

Looking at the situation silently, Agent Roan Montgomery couldn't help but smirk. The first test that trainee agents went through at the farm always weeded out the weak ones without fail and revealed the ones which had the potential to go into the field, and it was becoming blindingly obvious that Winterbottom was not strong.

After about ten minutes of sustained screaming, Roan broke the silence. "Are you sure about this, Piercy? This kid doesn't look like he's cut out for this. I mean, he's been in there for what, ten minutes, and he still hasn't realised that no amount of screaming and shouting is going to get him out of the cuffs."

"Patience, Roan, patience," replied the Director. "He'll figure it out."

Meanwhilst, Hartley had finally decided to stop shouting and looked around. The room was pretty much empty and the only exit was the door two metres in front of him. He tried straining against the cuffs again, but they held and he swore.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," he muttered under his breath. "Think! What would Bond do?"

Roan cringed. "What would Bond do? If he was real, he'd possibly be the worst agent in the whole history of the world."

Hartley glanced at the handcuffs. True, they were too small to slip his whole hand through, but if he…

"I am so going to regret this." In one move, he twisted his thumb hard until he heard a loud crack and felt a sharp pain shooting up his arm. Screaming in pain, he tried to collect himself for what he had to do next. Another crack. Another scream.

Barely containing the tears threatening to appear, Hartley struggled to his feet and shakily walked towards the door, cradling his injured hands. With one final effort, he pushed the door open and staggered for a while longer before passing out from the pain.

Piercy smiled at Roan. "Well, looks like you've got your answer. He's good enough."

**So... what do you think? Should I continue? Review please!**


End file.
